The Python
The world moves through itself. We are just in the way.
The sun gets unbearable around midday and from then until 4pm, there is not much that can be done on the farm. JakaBaba understood his daily rhythms and after a long day in the fields and after taking the animals to the river to drink, it was time for a bath. His daily bath was a cherished ritual. For as long as he remembered, the Yala river had been a regular escape from the hot blazing sun. He had led his small herd, consisting of a bull, four cows and calf back to the graze, just outside his homestead perimeter and tethered them.
Once the cattle were watered, his wife, Nyamalo knew where to find him, in the sacred hour between 3pm and 4pm. He would have gone to the river to bathe. He had been coming to the same spot for nearly two decades. Most of the villagers, from both sides of the river, had their designated spots but this particular one was more scheduled.
Across the river was a curtain of reeds and you could not spot a bather from higher ground because it was covered in bush and trees with thick undergrowth, save for the rocky narrow path that led down to the river. Yet, just at the water’s edge, it opened up onto a large rocky surface, black obsidian, that mimicked a natural deck, jetting out into the river, just beyond the tree canopy. Around the rock’s edges, the river was calm and waters shallow, unlike the midstream that looked deceptively smooth on the surface but where the undercurrent could carry the unaccustomed away like a malevolent spirit. He liked the spot, because at the edge of the rock, he could sit comfortably, with his feet dipped in the water and bathe under the direct heat of the sun and afterwards enjoy the warmth of the rock.
So after tethering the cows near the homestead, he started his slow short walk to the river, carrying his back scrub, a piece of a fishing net and a small bar of yellow soap. It had been a very dry February, drier than usual and the village had seen rain since late December. The land was patched, dusty and the trees that were typically thick canopy, were sparse. Up above, in the expansive blue skies, there was not a single cloud in sight. He could tell by the volume of water and the sound of the river, that it had not been raining upstream either.
He walked the path slowly, his akala sandals crunching the under growth as he moved. However, his mind was restless and he could not explain why. He suddenly stopped by the large Ober tree, at the edge of the slope to start the descent to the river. He felt his pockets for his phone. He remembered where he had left it earlier and how he had forgotten to send his wife with it, to the mill at the shops, to get it charged. The phone charge wouldn’t last until the morning.
He clicked his tongue after he realised that he would be out of reach and he hoped that there wouldn’t be a power blackout the next day. There was an important phone call expected tomorrow.
There was nothing he could do about it now. At least he could cool off in the water and he continued walking towards the river. He had hardly taken three steps when his big toe stubbed a rock outcrop. He winced in pain, hoping on one foot. That hurt. He felt a throbbing sensation rush through his toe and when he tried to walk, he could only limp.
The cool river waters would numb the sensation and give him some relief. He hobbled gently down the slope and then he stopped after a few steps because the throbbing in his toe had increased, a reminder of his absentmindedness. He would need a stick to steady his weight and started to look around the bush.
He did not recall hearing a sound. The bush didn’t ruffle. It simply shifted as if the earth itself had grown a spine. Barely two paces away, a python appeared out of thin air, approaching him, directly, its glassy vertical-eye slits looking deep into his pupils.
Its skin was a pattern of obsidian and dried earth, a glossy, muscular presence that looked both wet and ancient. He was transfixed, locked in a daze, unable to look away, unable to move, unable to think. JakaBaba’s jaw went slack, the dry air of February rushing into his throat, choking him. His face was a mask of unvoiced terror. His mouth parted and his lower lip dangled as if the spirit had partially exited his body.
With childlike helplessness he watched it approach. In that gaze, JakaBaba registered his own insignificance and simply surrendered to the moment. He had gone beyond fear and into a state of suspended disbelief. The imposing beastly presence turned him into a pillar of salt.
Then it continued on, a great ribbon of thick rhythmic muscle passing inches from his feet. He stood rooted in the same spot, feeling a chill penetrating his marrow and waves of fright moving through him that made his skin ripple. There was only the weight of the air as the python’s long body flowed past him, mimicking the river below, for what felt like an entirety until its tail flickered and vanished into the undergrowth. Gone.
It was quiet again. Just the sound of the river flowing calmly down the ravine. The birds and the crickets, ringing in chorus. No wind. The heat of the sun, which had been forgotten, returned, bearing down into his shoulders. JakaBaba let out a jagged, rattling breath and he felt his heart pounding against his chest and his knees buckling. He looked down and noticed the bar of soap and fishing net had fallen to the ground but he did not bother to pick them up. After a long moment, he straightened his head and stared at the river lost in trance.
It was the sound of a crested crane, from the distance trumpeting melodiously,
U-wang, U-wang, U-wang, U-wang!
That brought him back to reality, as though emerging from a dream, he realised that he was alive and the beast was gone.
He turned around, and started making the ascent up the slope, towards his home. He was walking perfectly, with no trace of the earlier limp from the throbbing toe. Jakababa walked firmly, his feet picking pace and soon, he was in the clearing walking through the entrance to his compound that was lined with a thick green hedge of the African milkbush, Ojuok. He did not even notice the cows that he had tethered not too long ago or his wife, Nyamalo who was threshing a stack of bean pods laid out to dry in the bare earthen courtyard in front of the house. It was a strange sight watching him walk through the home like a zombie.
Nyamalo threw down her long threshing staff and hurried after her husband. She found him seated on the edge of their wooden bed with his hands folded around his stomach, his breathing audible.
“My husband! What has happened to you? What have you seen? Did you see a demon?”
Jakababa did not speak. There were thin beads of sweat on his forehead and his face looked stunned. He sat there in stillness, unresponsive and Nyamalo began to panic. What was happening to this man? Then she rushed out of the house and returned with a calabash. She scooped the cool water from the pot in the sitting area and presented it to him, asking him to drink. He turned to her slowly, like someone who had lost his memory. She was holding the calabash, close to his mouth urging him to drink.
“Drink this water!” she commanded.
He was not responding to her words, so she brought it to his lips and that’s when he snapped out of his stupor and held the calabash and then drank it all greedily, in a continuous gulp.
When he had finished drinking the water, his breath seemed to have slowed down and his chest was not rising as fast as it was before. She kept her eyes on him, confused, for she had never, not once, in a long marriage even seen her husband in a state of fright. She thought of running, to her brother-in-law’s homestead, to seek his support and then changed her mind.
Instead, she instinctively reached under the bed and pulled out a carton box that held her weathered leather bound bible. She held it to her chest and went down on her knees and began to pray fervently.
She prayed for deliverance, her voice echoing in the room as she declared,
“By the authority of Jesus Christ, I command the spirit of darkness, the demons of evil to leave this home NOW!….and on she went, praying fervently, with teary eyes and all along, Jakababa sat there in a silent meditation, not once unfolding his arms. When she came to the end of her prayer, she once again probed her husband.
“What happened to you? What do you see by the river?”
Jakababa did not respond immediately as in slow motion, he turned and faced her for the first time during this whole interaction and just looked at her quizzically. Then he got up and walked out of the house. He started heading towards the granny and stopped. Then moved towards the cattle but also appeared to change his mind about his intentions, so he just stood in the courtyard, next to a heap of thrushed beans.
Nyamalo watched him keenly and asked pleadingly,
‘What is going on with you my husband? Please!!Tell me! Please!”
He looked at her again and very calmly told her, “Please, just… give me some space, I will be back”
With those words, he walked out of the compound with purpose and retraced his steps through the bush, towards the river. Nyamalo started to follow him and then stopped and stood at the edge of the Ojuok hedge, watching him walk away with a determined step towards the bush.
Jakababa’s heart was still pounding, his shoulders tense and eyes roaming the bush and his ears pricked up. The air felt thinner now and he didn’t hobble. His feet retraced the rocky path and he soon back at the spot of the encounter.
There, laying on bare ground, the piece of blue fishing net and the cake of yellow soap. He stood there again looking in the direction that the python had disappeared to. There was hardly a trace of disturbance and it was only after a long prodding look that he noticed the flattened grass where the python had slithered past. All the sounds were familiar again. The birds, the river, the crickets. The sky above, still clear and blue but the sun had moved further west towards the hills.
Standing there, he felt his eyes welling with tears and he started whispering.
“Erokamano Nyakalaga, Thank you the Ominpresent,” and he dropped into a squat and placed both his palms on the warm dusty ground, and then on to his knees his hands and raised palms up to the sky, repeating the words of gratitude over and again, letting his hot tears flow.
Then he stood up, wiping his face with a rough hand, his eyes looking around in embarrassment, hoping that his wife had not followed him. He was all alone. He picked his soap and fishnet and walked delicately down the slope to the Yala. When he stepped on the rock deck, he stripped down and walked into the river. He waded in until the current gripped his waist and he felt the force of the undercurrent tugging his feet. He ducked his head under, allowing the silence of the underwater world to ring in his ears and then climbed back onto the sun-warmed obsidian.
JakaBaba took the scrap of the fishing net and the yellow soap and began to scrub. He worked with a fierce intensity, scrubbing off the salt of his fright and cleaning every pore of his body until his skin glowed. Then he rubbed his feet against the rock until they felt smooth.
Finally, he sat. Naked and dripping, he let the sun and the black rock bake him dry. He watched the water flow past, the current mild, indifferent, and steady. Then he dressed up, his movements deliberate and picked up the fishing net and the piece of soap and began to slowly walk up the slope towards his homestead.
He found Nyamalo in the courtyard sweeping up the beans. She stopped sweeping, to watch him approach. The expression on his face had changed. His face had softened but it had a deeply contemplative expression. The fishnet was hanging out of his pocket.
He approached her and she straightened up from her bent position to hold his gaze.
“Erokamano. Nyamalo. I am okay now”.
They stood across from each other, two individuals joined by a moment of silence that required no further explanation and then Jakababa said,
“I will bring in the cows now” and Nyamalo replied, “Yes, let me finish here too” and she returned to sweeping, her mood now shifting into deep contemplation over what had just transpired.
From across the valley, she heard the distant call of two crested cranes, u-wang! u-wang!
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